


Rowing, again

by bogman



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon is confused, sansa and bran are nosy, silly little one shot, stark siblings being extra, technically canon compliant, the rowing jokes will never get old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 19:24:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogman/pseuds/bogman
Summary: Arya Stark is getting on a ship. Good thing Gendry knows how to row.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know the finale aired a while ago, but this is the only way I can see the series ending in any coherent way, and I finally got around to writing it, lol. thanks for reading and enjoy :)

Gendry paces the chambers he’s been given in King’s Landing. They’re elegant and well decorated and stifling; the Myrish rugs and satin throw pillows that seem to cover every surface are too soft and too fine for his calloused hands, the exquisitely detailed furniture worth more than all the money he has ever earned and ill suited for his lumbering frame. The sickly sweet smell of perfume permeates everything, a thin veneer meant to cover the scent of smoke and charred flesh that hangs over the city like a rot. He hates this room, and yet Gendry cannot bring himself to leave it, because if he sees what has happened to Flea Bottom, to Mott’s and the alleyways with shops selling bread and bowls of brown, he thinks he might snap. Whether that means screams or sobs or punches, he isn't sure, and Gendry doesn't particularly wish to find out. Instead he waits in his self imposed prison, supposing that someone will come to fetch him for something eventually.

It would be better if he could talk to her, to Arya, except he just had to go and muck everything up by calling her a lady. He can’t exactly blame her for turning him down, but he hates that she left without a goodbye, and he hates that she couldn’t meet his eye in the Dragonpit. He hates that his marriage proposal was so poorly thought out, and he hates that he’s agreed to a lordship he can’t muster up the will to care about at the moment.

A serving girl lets herself in the room. “Forgive me, milord,” she says quickly, her words rushed and her face nervous. “But Queen Sansa sent me with an urgent message.”

He nods his head slightly and waits for the message.

The girl looks up and bites her lip in the effort to remember every bit. “She said Arya was leaving on a ship, but there was still time for you to make it aboard, if you hurry.” She furrows her brow. “They’re at the third dock down, the big ship with the direwolf on the sail.”

Gendry’s mouth opens like a gasping fish. “How—why—did Lady Sansa say anything else?” he asks incredulously. Did Arya tell him about their relationship? Did she just know? Before now, Gendry had been somewhat afraid of Sansa, but now, for certain, she strikes him as someone not to be trifled with, perhaps somewhat omnicescent like her younger brother.

“Queen Sansa,” the girl corrects. “And no, milord, not that I can remember. You’d best hurry, if you plan to be on this boat she mentioned.”

“Yes,” he says, still struck dumb to a certain extent. “Right. Thanks.”

She dips her head in acknowledgement, and Gendry finally finds the presence of mind to bolt for the docks, running like a fool through the half-ruined castle he barely knows.

It takes longer than he would have hoped- the fastest route is blocked by rubble, and there’s still throngs of people crowding the docks. Gendry scarcely understands how there are still so many left. He pushes past them all, determined to make it to the dock in time, only once he’s finally made it out of the mass he realizes that he’s too late. The long, dark ship with direwolf sails is pulling out to sea, and only three solitary figures stand to watch its departure.

“Wait!” he calls, depleting what little air remains in his lungs. Panting for a moment, he shouts again. “Stop!”

The ship doesn’t turn, but Gendry is loud and close, and Arya’s siblings turn their gaze to him. Gendry imagines he looks half mad, out of breath and with a crazed desperation in his eyes. Sansa smiles, elegant and composed, though Gendry can see the thin tracks of tears she has just wiped away.

“I see you got my message,” she says. “Though I fear you are just a minute too late.”

Jon only looks confused, his eyes darting back and forth between his sister and Gendry, trying to piece together the meaning of their short exchange. Bran, _King_ Bran, however, smirks as if he’s privy to a joke no one else is. “They left behind a spare rowboat. You’ve some experience with one, I think.”

For the second time, Gendry is left speechless. There’s far too much meaning in Bran’s words to dissect at the moment, so Gendry simply dips his head as a thank you, and makes a beeline for the small craft.

As he pushes away from the dock, he looks back at the three Starks. “Suppose I’ll be seeing you all again. Thank you for the advice, your graces.”

Bran’s face betrays nothing, but Sansa looks like she’s holding back a laugh. Jon still looks confused, though he waves back at Gendry anyway.

Gendry watches their figures grow small, rowing fast and hard to catch up to the slow moving ship. The winds are light and the sea calm, and Gendry thinks he might be able to catch them before they lower the sails. His arms are pumping hard and fast, but he’s just barely making up any ground, and soon any chance of catching them will be lost.

“Wait!” he screams, turning his head towards the ship. “Wait!”

And finally, there is a figure darting across the deck, short and slight with a sword at her hip, loose tendrils of dark hair floating around her face. “Stop the boat!” she orders, and Gendry can just barely hear her command from his distance. He sees the oars stopping, and rows furiously to meet the ship on waves that are becoming more and more choppy.

Her eyes follow him the whole time, almost uncomfortably focused. Gendry can’t read her expression—is she happy or mad? Confused or excited? It used to be that her face was an open book, but wherever she spent the last few years, she learned to cover her emotions with a neutral mask, and it’s only in rare moments that Gendry can see flashes of the impulsive brat he remembers.

When he pulls up to the side of the ship, panting and gasping from the effort, she looks down at him with those wide gray eyes, and the corner of her mouth quirks up.

Unceremoniously, she drops a rope ladder down to meet him. When it bounces, it nearly whacks Gendry in the face, and he jumps out of the way just in time. “Hurry up,” she says, and he can hear the impatience in her voice. Gendry grins. This is the Arya he’s familiar with.

Clambering up, her crew eyes him suspiciously, but Arya simply raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?” she asks, in a tone that conveys how absolutely, bullishly stupid she thinks he is.

Gendry shifts uncertainly, scratching the back of his head. “Following you,” he offers sheepishly.

She looks him over, still wearing his new doublet with the Baratheon stag on it, now soaked in sweat and seawater, and probably ruined. “Why?”

“Because… well, I—“ He clears his throat. “I meant what I said. I don’t care about a lordship, not if I can’t be with you.”

“You turned it down?” Arya takes a step closer to him, and Gendry feels heat creep into his face. “The lordship?” They’re only a few inches away now, and Arya raises her thick brows in that devastating way, waiting for a response.

“Yes—well, not exactly,” he says, trying to explain what has transpired. “Your sister, she told me you were leaving so I just… ran.”

“Sansa?” Arya looks confused. “Why would she...?” she trails off. “It doesn’t matter. What do you mean, you ran?”

“I ran like an idiot to catch this boat, is what I mean.”

“Oh.” She looks at him with mild curiosity, perhaps some affection. “Do you mean to come with us?”

“What do you think I went to all this trouble for?”

Arya smiles now, a real one. “And you’re sure? You don’t want a castle and a lady and lots of fine things?”

“Certain,” Gendry says solemnly.

“Right then,” she replies, and the next thing he knows Arya is pressing her lips to his, kissing him hard and putting her hand on his face. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close and leaning forward slightly to make up for their height difference.

When they pull away, breathless and grinning, Arya looks at him with a fierce intensity. “Marry me.” It’s not a question.

Gendry’s smile widens. “Oh, so now you want to?” he teases, and Arya scowls at him. “It was a joke! ‘Course I will. I’d sail off the edge of the world for you. I _am_ sailing off the edge of the world for you.”

Arya rolls her eyes, but her expression softens. “I’m holding you to that, you great big bull.”

He grins. “As milady commands.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to Gayeld for providing me with a prompt that i just had to write immediately after hearing it! sansa and bran are the gossipy duo i never knew i needed until now

Once the new Lord Baratheon’s figure is but a dark silhouette on the open waters, making madly for his sister’s ship, Jon turns to Sansa, his brow furrowed.

“What just happened?” he asks.

“I told him Arya was leaving,” Sansa replies, matter of factly, and breezes past Jon’s concerns to the next thing on her mind. “Two golden dragons says she kisses him when he climbs aboard.” 

Bran tilts his head thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I would take those odds.”

Jon looks from one sibling to another, both of whom clearly know something he doesn’t. Bran looks serene and unbothered, while Sansa wears a catlike grin.

“I’m sorry, _what?_ ” he asks, bewildered.

“They’re in love, Jon, do catch up,” his sister explains, as if he is a particularly dense student that she has the misfortune of tutoring.

“Who?”

“Arya and Gendry,” Sansa says, exasperated. “Haven’t you seen the way they look at one another? Didn’t you notice when he came out of the granary with her, and his trousers were tied up wrong?”

Jon shakes his head. Whether he does it to acknowledge his poor observational skills or to dismiss Sansa’s implications, neither Jon nor Sansa is sure.

Arya? In love? It’s a foreign idea to Jon, something he feels shouldn’t be happening now, possibly ever. She’s his little sister, and Jon still thinks of her as a child, wild and fierce, but a child all the same. And Gendry? Gendry is the definition of a man, tall and broad-shouldered and strong. No, Jon thinks, he is decidedly not in favor of this particular scenario.

“That can’t be right.”

Sansa lifts an eyebrow. “It is. It’s rather sweet, really.”

Jon turns to Bran. Sansa may be perceptive, but she is just as likely to jump to false conclusions as any other human, unlike his brother. 

Unfortunately, Bran nods his head slowly, as if to confirm Jon’s worst fear. “It’s been going on for quite a while, from what I can gather,” he comments. “He proposed to her after the feast, though, and Arya turned him down.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that bit,” Sansa says, her eyes lighting up the way they used to when her friend Jeyne would whisper a secret in her ear. “I just assumed they had a fight.”

“No,” Bran says. “He called her a lady, and Arya didn’t like that.”

“Unsurprising,” Sansa says with a smile, before her tone turns more serious. “I do hope they work it out. It’ll be rather awkward otherwise.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon interrupts. “You two are fine with this?”

“I’m the Three-eyed Raven,” Bran says flatly. “I just observe.”

“She’s a grown woman, Jon,” Sansa adds with a hint of annoyance. “She can make her own decisions. And, personally, I think it’s romantic.”

Stewing quietly, Jon sighs. “I can’t believe none of you thought I ought to know about this,” he grumbles petulantly.

“Because I knew you’d be annoying about it.”

“I still had a right to know!”

“Not really. Where does it say older brothers deserve to hear about their sisters’ love lives?”

“It’s common courtesy!”

“No it’s not, it’s—”

Bran interrupts their bickering. “He’s climbing aboard.”

Immediately, Sansa falls silent, waiting for Bran to elaborate. “You know what,” Jon decides impulsively. “I’ll take your bet Sansa. Two golden dragons says they don’t kiss." 

She shrugs. “Fine by me.” Sansa turns back to Bran. “Are they talking?”

He nods slowly. “They’re standing very close. Oh, and now they’re kissing. Well done, Sansa.”

She smiles smugly at Jon, who looks distraught. “It’s alright. You don’t have to pay me right away.”

“Arya just proposed,” Bran updates them, and Sansa lets out a laugh, while Jon groans.

“Oh isn’t that lovely,” Sansa says, grinning. “It’s too bad I can’t plan a ceremony for them, but perhaps it’s just as well. Arya would hate whatever I suggested.”

“Seven hells,” Jon sighs, running his hand through his hair. “Arya’s left and she’s still giving me trouble.”

“She wouldn’t be Arya if she didn’t,” Sansa comments dryly, and moves to push Bran’s chair. “Now c’mon, you have a boat to catch as well, if I remember correctly.”


End file.
